Chapter VI: Part 6

King Charles of Fraunce, the eight of that name, sent into Germany a gentleman called Bernage, lorde of Cyure besides Amboise: who to make speede, spared neither daye nor nighte for execution of his Prince's commaundement. In sutch wyse as very late in an euening he arriued at the Castle of a Gentleman, to demaunde lodging, which very hardly he obtained. Howbeit, when the gentleman vnderstode that he was the seruaunt of such a kyng, he prayed him not to take it in ill parte the rudinesse of his seruantes because vppon occasion of certain his wiue's frends which loued him not, he was forced to kepe his house so straight. Then Bernage tolde him the cause of his iourney, wherein the Gentleman offered to doe to the king his maister all seruice possible. Leading him into his house where he was feasted and lodged very honorably. When supper was ready, the Gentleman conueyed him into a parler wel hanged with fayre Tapistrie. And the meate being set vpon the table, and he required to sit down, he perceiued a woman comming forth behind the hanging, which was so beautifull as might be seene, sauing that her head was all shauen, and apparelled in Almaine blacke. After bothe the Gentlemen had washed, water was brought to the Gentlewoman, who when she had washed she sat down also, without speaking to any, or any word spoken vnto her againe. The Lorde Bernage beholding her well, thought her to be one of the fayrest Ladies that euer he sawe, if her face had not bene so pale and her countenaunce so sadde. After she had eaten a litle, she called for drinke, which one of the seruauntes brought vnto her in a straunge cup: for it was the head of a dead man trimmed with siluer, wherof she drancke twice or thrice. When she had supped and washed her handes, making a reuerence to the Lord of the house, shee retourned backe againe that way shee came, without speaking to any. Bernage was so much amased at that straunge sighte, as he waxed very heauie and sadde. The gentleman who marked hym, sayde vnto hym: "I see well that you be astonned at that you saw at the table, but seyng your honest demeanour, I wyll not keepe it secrete from you, because you shal not note that crueltie to be done without greate occasion. This gentlewoman whiche you see, is my wyfe, whom I loued better than was possible for any man to loue his wyfe. In such sorte as to marry her I forgat all feare of friendes, and brought her hither in despite of her parentes. She likewyse shewed vnto me suche signes of loue, as I attempted a thousande wayes to place her here for her ioye and myne, where wee lyued a long tyme in suche reste and contentation, as I thought my self the happiest Gentleman in Christendome. But in a iourney whiche I made, the attempt whereof myne honour forced me, shee forgot bothe her selfe, her conscience, and the loue whiche shee bare towardes mee, and fell in loue with a Gentleman that I brought vp in this house, whiche her loue vpon my retourne I perceiued to be true. Notwithstanding the loue that I bare her, was so great as I had no mistrust in her, tyll sutch tyme as experience did open myne eyes, and sawe the thynge that I feared more than death. For whiche cause my loue was tourned into furie and dispayre, so greate, as I watched her so nere, that vppon a daye fayning my selfe to goe abroade, I hydde my selfe in the chamber where now shee remayneth. Into the whiche sone after my departure shee repayred, and caused the Gentleman to come thether. Whome I did beholde to doe that thinge, which was altogether vnmeete for any man to doe to her, but my selfe. But when I sawe him mounte vppon the bed after her, I stepped forth and tooke him betwene her armes, and with my dagger immediatly did kill him. And because the offence of my wife semed so great as the doing of her to death was not sufficient to punish her, I deuised a torment which in mine opinion is worse vnto her than death. For thus I vse her, I doe locke her vp in the chamber wherein she accustomed to vse her delightes, and in the companie of hym that she loued farre better than me. In the closet of which chamber I haue placed the Anatomie of her friend, reseruing the same as a precious Iewell. And to the ende shee may not forget him at meales, at the table before my face, she vseth his skulle in steade of a cup to drinke in, to the intent she may behold him (aliue) in the presence of hym whom through her owne fault she hath made her mortal enemy, and him dead and slain for her sake, whose loue she preferred before mine. And so beholdeth those twoo thinges at dinner and supper which ought to displease her moste, her enemie liuing, and her friend dead, and al through her own wickednesse, howbeit I doe vse her no worse than my self, although shee goeth thus shauen: for the ornament of the heare doth not appertaine to an adultresse, nor the vayle or other furniture of the head to an unchast woman. Wherefore she goeth so shauen, in token she hath lost her honestie. If it please you, sir, to take the payne to see her, I wil bring you to her." Whereunto Bernage willingly assented. And descending into her chamber whiche was very richely furnished, they founde her sitting alone at the fier. And the Gentleman drawing a Curteine, whiche was before the Closet, he sawe the Anatomie of the dead man hanging. Bernage had a great desire to speake vnto the Ladye, but for feare of her husband he durst not. The Gentleman perceiuin the same, said vnto him: "If it please you to speake vnto her, you shal vnderstand her order of talke." Therwithall Bernage sayde vnto her: "Madame, if your pacience be correspondent to this torment, I deme you to be the happiest woman of the worlde." The lady with teares trickeling down her eyes with a grace so good and humble as was possible, spake thus vnto him: "Sir, I doe confesse my fault to be so great, as all the afflictions and torment that the Lorde of this place (for I am not worthy to call him husbande) can doe vnto me, be nothing comparable to the sorrowe I haue conceiued of myne offence." And in sayinge so, she began pitifully to weepe. Therewithall the Gentleman toke Bernage by the hande, and led him forth. The next day morning he departed about the businesse which the king had sent him. Notwithstanding, in bidding the Gentleman fare well, he sayde vnto hym: "Sir, the loue whiche I beare vnto you, and the honor and secretes wherewith you haue made me priuie, doth force me to saye vnto you howe I doe thinke good (seing the great repentance of the poore Gentlewoman your wife) that you doe shewe her mercie. And bicause you be yong and haue no children, it were a verie great losse and detriment to lose such a house and ligneage as yours is. And it may so come to passe, that your enemies thereby in time to come may be your heires, and inioye the goodes and patrimonie whiche you doe leaue behinde you." The Gentleman which neuer thought to speake vnto his wife, with those wordes paused a great while, and in thend confessed his saying to be true, promising him that if she would continue in that humilitie, he would in time shew pittie vppon her, with whiche promise Bernage departed. And when he was retourned towardes the king his maister, hee recompted vnto him the successe of his iourneyes. And amonges other thinges he tolde him of the beautie of this Ladie, who sent his Painter called Iohn of Paris, to bring him her counterfaicte: which with the consent of her husband, he did. Who after that long penaunce, for a desire he had to haue children, and for the pitie hee bare to his wyfe which with great humblenesse receiued that affliction, tooke her vnto hym agayne, and afterwardes begat of her many children.

THE FIFTY-EIGHTH NOUELL.

_A President of Grenoble aduertised of the ill gouernement of his
wife, took such order, that his honestie was not diminished, and yet
reuenged the facte._

In Grenoble (the chiefe citie of a Countrie in Fraunce called Daulphine, which citie otherwise is named Gratianapolis) there was a President that had a very fayre wyfe, who perceiuing her husbande beginne to waxe olde, fell in loue with a yong man that was her husband's Clark, a very propre and handsome felowe. Vpon a time when her husband in a morning was gone to the Palace, the clarke entred his chamber and tooke his Maister's place, whiche thing one of the presidente's men, that faithfully had serued him the space of XXX. yeres like a trustie seruant perceiuing, could not keepe it secret, but tolde his Maister. The President whiche was a wise man, would not beleue it vpon his light report, but sayde that he did it of purpose to set discord betwene him and his wife, notwithstanding if the thing were true as he had reported, he might let him see the thing it selfe, whiche if he did not, he had good cause to thinke that he had deuised a lye to breake and dissolue the loue betwene them. The seruaunt did assure him that he would cause him to see the thing wherof he had tolde him. And one morning so sone as the President was gone to the Court, and the Clarked entred into his chamber, the seruaunt sent one of his companions to tel his maister that he might come in good time, to see the thing that he had declared vnto him, he himself standing stil at the doore to watch that the partie might not goe out. The President so sone as he sawe the signe that one of his men made vnto him, fayning that he was not wel at ease, left the audience, and spedely went home to his house, where he founde his olde seruaunt watching at the chamber dore, assuring him for truth that the Clarke was within, and that he should with spede to goe in. The President sayd to his seruant: "Do not tarrie at the dore, for thou knowest ther is no other going out or comming in but onely this, except a litle closet wherof I alone do beare the keye." The president entred the chamber, and found his wife and the Clarke a bed together, who in his shirt fell downe at the president's feete, crauing pardon, and his wife much afraid began to weepe. To whome the President sayde: "For so muche as the thing which thou hast done is such, as thou maist well consider, that I can not abyde my house (for thee) in this sort to be dishonored, and the daughters which I haue had by thee to be disauaunced and abased: therfore leaue of thy weeping, and marke what I shall doe. And thou Nicolas (for that was his Clarke's name) hide thy selfe here in my closet, and in any wise make no noyse." When he had so done, he opened the dore and called in his olde seruaunt, and sayde vnto him: "Diddest not thou warrant and assure me that thou wouldest let me see my Clarke and wyfe in bedde together? And vppon thy words I am come hether, thinking to haue killed my wife, and doe finde nothing to be true of that which thou diddest tell me. For I haue searched the chamber in euery place as I will shewe thee." And with that he caused his seruant to looke vnder the beddes, and in euery corner. And when the seruant founde him not, throughly astonned, he sayde to his maister: "Sir, I sawe him goe into the chamber, and out he is not gone at the dore: and so farre as I can see he is not here: therefore I thinke the Diuel must nedes carrie him awaye." Then his maister rebuked him in these words: "Thou art a villayn, to set such diuision betwene my wife and me, wherefore I doe discharge thee from my seruice, and for that which thou hast done me, I will paye the thy dutie, with the aduauntage: therefore get thee hence, and take hede that thou doest not tarrie in this town aboue XXIIII. houres." The President for that he knew him to be an honest and faithfull seruaunt, gaue him five or sixe yeares wages, and purposed otherwise to preferre him. When the seruaunt (with ill will and weping teares) was departed, the President caused his Clark to come out of his Closet: and after he had declared to his wife and him, what hee thought of their ill behauiour, he forbad them to shewe no likelyhode of any such matter, and commaunded his wyfe to attire and dresse her selfe in more gorgeous apparell, than she was wont to weare, and to haunt and resort to company and feastes, willing the Clarke to make a better countenaunce on the matter then hee did before, but whensoeuer he rounded him in the eare and bad him depart, he charged him after that commaundement not to tarry foure houres in the towne. And when he had thus done, he retourned to the palace Courte, as though there hadde no sutche thing chaunced. And the space of fiftene dayes (contrary to his custome) he feasted his frendes and neighbours, and after euery those bankettes, he caused the minstrels to play, to make the Gentlewomen daunce. One daye he seing his wife not to daunce, he commaunded his Clarke to take her by the hande, and to leade her forth to daunce, who thinking the President had forgotten the trespasse past, very ioyfully daunced with her. But when the daunce was ended, the President faining as though he would haue commaunded him to doe some thing in his house, bad him in his eare to get him away and neuer to retourne. Now was the Clark very sorowfull to leaue his Ladye, but yet no lesse ioyfull he was that his life was saued. Afterwardes when the President had made all his frendes and kinsfolkes, and all the countrey, beleue what great loue he bare to his wife, vppon a faire day in the moneth of May, he went to gather a sallade in his garden, the herbes whereof after she had eaten, she liued not aboue XXIIII. houres after, whereof he counterfaited suche sorrowe, as no man could suspect the occasion of her death. And by that meanes he was reuenged of his enemy, and saued the honour of his house.

"¶ I will not by this Nouell (said Emarsuitte) prayse the conscience of the President, but herein I haue declared the light behauiour of a woman, and the great pacience and prudence of a man: Praying you good Ladies all, not to be offended at the truthe." "If all women (quo Parlamente) that loue their Clarkes or seruauntes, were forced to eate such sallades, I beleue they would not loue their gardens so well as they doe, but woulde teare and plucke vp all the herbes bothe roote and rinde, to auoyde those thinges that by death might aduaunce the honor of their stock and ligneage." "If sallades be so costly (quod Hircan) and so daungerous in May, I will prouoke appetite with other sawces, or els hunger shall be my chiefest."

THE FIFTY-NINTH NOUELL.

_A gentleman of Perche suspecting iniurie done vnto him by his
friend, prouoked him to execute and put in proufe the cause of his
suspicion._

Besides the countrie of Perche, there were two Gentlemen, which from the tyme of theyr youthe lyued in sutche great and perfect amitie, as there was betwene them but one harte, one bed, one house, one table, and one purse. Long time continued this perfect frendship: betwene whom there was but one will and one woorde, no difference in either of them: in so muche as they not onely semed to be two brethren, but also they appeared in al semblances to be but one man. One of them chaunced to mary: notwithstanding they gaue not ouer their frendship, but perseuered in their vsual amitie as they were wont to doe: and whan they happened to be strained to straight lodging, the maried gentleman would not stick to suffer his friend to lie with him and his wife. But yet you ought for frendship sake to consider that the maried man lay in the mids. Their goodes were common betwene them, and the mariage did yelde no cause to hinder their assured amitie. But in processe of time, the felicitie of this worlde (whiche carieth with it a certaine mutabitie) could not continue in the house, which was before right pleasaunt and happy: for the maried man forgetting the faithfull fidelitie of his friend, without any cause conceiued a greate suspicion betwene hym and his wyfe, from whom he could not dissemble the case, but sharpely tolde her his mynde. She therewithall was wonderfully amazed: howbeit, he commaunded her to doe all thinges (one thing excepted) and to make so muche of his companion as of himselfe. Neuerthelesse he forbade her to speake vnto hym except it were in the presence of many. All which she gaue her husbande's companion to vnderstande, who would not beleue her, knowyng that hee had neither by thought or deede done anye thing whereof his companion had cause to be offended. And likewise because he used to kepe nothing secrete from hym, he tolde him what he had sayde, praying hym to tell him the truthe of the matter, because he purposed neither in that, ne yet in any other thing, to geue occasion of breach of that amitie which of long time they had imbraced. The maried Gentleman assured him that he neuer thought it, and how they which had sowen that rumor, had wickedly belied him. Whereunto his companion replied: "I knowe wel enough that Ielousie is a passion so intollerable as loue it selfe. And when you shall conceiue that opinion of Ialousie, yea and it were of my selfe, I should do you no wrong, for your selfe were not able to kepe it. But of one thing which is in your power, I haue good matter whereof to complayne, and that is because you will concele from me your maladie, sith there was no passion or opinion which you conceiued, that before this time you kept secret from me. Likewise for my owne parte if I were amorous of your wife, you ought not to impute it as a fault vnto me, because it is a fier which I bare not in my handes, to vse at my pleasure. But if I kepe it to my selfe from you, and indeuour to make youre wife knowe it by demonstration of my loue, I might then be accompted that vntrustiest friend that euer liued: and for me I doe assure you that shee is a right honest and a good woman, and one that my fansie doth lest fauour (although she were not your wife) of all them that euer I sawe. But now sithens there is no cause, I do require you that if you perceiue any suspicion, be it neuer so litle, to tell me of it, because I would so vse myself, as our frendship which hath indured so long tyme, might not bee broken for a woman: and if I did loue her aboue any thing in the worlde, yet surely I would neuer speake worde vnto her, bicause I doe esteme our frendship better then the greatest treasure." His companion swore vnto him very great othes that he neuer thought it, praying him to vse his house as he had done before. Whereunto he aunswered: "Sithe you will haue me so to doe, I am content: but I praye you if hereafter you doe conceiue any sinistre opinion in me, not to dissemble the same, which if you doe I will neuer continue longer in your companie." In processe of time, liuing together according to their custome, the maried Gentleman entred againe into greater Ielousie than euer he did, commaunding his wife to beare no more that countenaunce towards him that she was wont to doe. Whiche commaundement she tolde her husbande's companion, praying him after that time to forbeare to speake vnto her, for that she was forbidden to doe the like to him. The gentleman vnderstanding by wordes and certaine countenaunces, that his companion had not kept promise, he sayd vnto him in great choler: "To be Ialous (my companion) is a thing naturall: but bicause thou diddest sweare vnto me by othes not to dissemble, I can by no meanes forbeare any longer: for I did euer thinke that betwene thyne harte and mine, there could be no let and interruption: but to my great griefe and without anye fault on my part, I doe see the contrarie. For as muche as thou art not only very Ialous betwene thy wife and mee, but also thou wouldest dissimulate and couer the same, so that in the ende thy maladie and disease continuing so long, is altered into mere malice, and lyke as oure loue hath bene the greateste that hathe bene seene in oure tyme, euen so our displeasure and hatred is nowe moste mortall. I haue done so mutche as lyeth in mee, to auoyde this inconuenience, but sithe thou hast suspected me to be an ill man, and I haue still shewed my selfe to be the contrary, I doe sweare, and therwithal assure thee, by my faith, that I am the same thou thinkest me to be, and therefore from henceforth take hede of me: for since suspicion hath separated the from my loue and amitie, despite shall deuide me from thine." And albeit that his companion would haue made him beleue the contrarie, and that hee mistrusted hym nothing at all, yet he withdrewe his part of his moueables and goodes that before were common betweene them, so that then both their hartes and goodes were so farre separated as before they were vnited and ioyned together. In such wyse as the vnmaried Gentleman neuer ceassed till he had made his companion cockolde, according to his promise.

THE SIXTIETH NOUELL.

_The piteous death of an Amorouse Gentleman, for the slacke comfort
geuen him to late, by his beloued._

Betwene Daulphine and Prouence, there was a gentleman, more riche and better furnished with beautie, vertue, and good condicions, then with the goodes of fortune: who fill in loue with a gentlewoman that for this time shall want a name, for respecte of her parentes that are come of honorable houses, and the Gentleman's name also shalbe vntolde, for like respecte, although altogether not so honorably allied, as the Gentlewoman that he loued, and yet the historie very certen and true. And bicause his degree was not so high as hers, hee durst not discouer his affection: for the loue which he bare her, was so good and perfect, as rather would he haue bene tormented with the panges of death, then couet the least aduauntage that might redounde to her dishonor. And seing his state to base in respecte of hers, had no hope to marry her. Wherefore he grounded his loue vpon none other foundation and intent, but to loue her with all his power so perfectlye as was possible, which in the ende came vnto her knowledge. And the Gentlewoman knowing and seing the honest amitie which he bare her, to be ful of vertue, ioyned with chast and comly talke, felt her selfe right happie to be beloued and had in prise, of a personage so well condicioned, practising dayly cherefull countinaunce towardes him (whiche was the best rewarde he pretended to haue) whereof he conceiued great ease and contentment. But malice the cancred enemy of all reste and quiet, could not long abide this honest and happie life. For some frowning at his good happe, (as malice euer accompanieth a well disposed mynde) tolde the mother of the mayden, howe they marueiled that the Gentleman should bee so familiar in her house, inferring therewithall that the beautie of her daughter was the only cause, with whom they sawe him many times to vse secrete and priuat speach. The mother which by no meanes doubted the honestie of the Gentleman, no more then shee did of her own children, was very sorie to vnderstand that some shold be offended at that their familiarity. She thought therfore to shunne the cause of their offence. And at length, (fearing that slaunder might be raised of malice) she required the Gentleman for a tyme to haunt no more her house, as he was wont to doe. A thing to him of harde digestion, knowing his own innocencie, and lesse desert to be estranged from the house, for respect of the honest talke he vsed to the yonge gentlewoman. Notwithstanding, to stoppe the rage of malicious tongues, he withdrew himself, till he thought the brute was ceased, and then retourned after his wonted maner: whose absence nothing abridged his auncient good will. And he began no soner to be familiar there again, but he vnderstode that the mayden should be maried to a Gentleman, that was not so ritche and noble (as semed to hym) and therfore he thought he should receiue great wrong, if she were bestowed vpon that Gentleman, and not on hym, that had bene so long a sutor. And thereupon conceiued corage to preferre hym selfe in playne tunes, if choyse were geuen to the maiden. Howebeit, the mother and other of her kynne, sollicited and chose the other gentleman because (in dede) he was more welthie. Whereat the poore gentleman fretted with displeasure, seing that his Ladie should for worldly mucke be defrauded of her greatest ioye, by little and little without other maladie, began to languishe, and in litle tyme was so altered, as in his face appeared the visage of death. Neuerthelesse he could not forbeare the house of his beloued, but continually from time to time made his repaire thether to fede himselfe with the baulme of that beautie, which he thought would prolong his dayes, but it was the onely abridgement. In thend the poyson he sucked by the viewe of that beautie, consumed his strength, and force failing him, was constrained to kepe his bedde. Whereof he would not aduertise her whome he loued, for greuing her, knowing well that she would bee tormented with the newes. And so suffring him selfe to runne the race of past recourye, lost also his appetite to eate or drinck, and therewithall his slepe and rest fayled, in suche plight as within short space he was consumed in visage and face, as it grewe to be vglie and cleane out of knowledge. Brought to this lowe estate, one of his frends certified the mother of his mistres, that was a very charitable and kinde Gentlewoman, and loued so well the man, as if all their parentes and kinne had bene of her's and the mayden's opinion they would haue preferred the honestie of him, before the great substance of the other. But the frendes of the father's side by no meanes would consent vnto it. Yet the good Gentlewoman and her daughter (for all the other's frowardnes) vouchsafed to visit the poor gentleman whom they founde, rather declining towards death, then in hope of life. And knowing his ende to approche, he was shriuen and receiued the holy Sacrament, purposing of present passage by panges of death, neuer to see any of his frendes againe. Being in this case and yet seing her, whome he counted to be his life and sauftie, felte suche soudden recouerie, as hee threwe hym selfe alofte his bedde and spake these wordes vnto her: "What cause hath drieuen you hither (mistres myne) by takyng paines to visite him, who hath one of his feet alreadie within the graue, the other stepping after with conuenient speede, for execution whereof you bee the onely Instrument." "Howe so, sir?" sayde the mother. "Is it possible that hee, whom we so derely loue, can receiue death by our offences? I pray you sir to tell me, what reason leadeth you to speake these wordes." "Madame," sayde he, "so long as I could, I dissembled the loue that I bare to my deare mistres your daughter: so it is that my parentes and frendes speaking of a mariage betwene her and me, haue clattred thereof moe nedeles woordes then I desired, by waying the mishap that might insue, and nowe doth happe past all hope not for my particular pleasure, but bicause I knowe with none other she shalbe so well intreated nor beloued as she should haue bene with me. The benefit which I see she hath lost, is the most perfect frende the best affected seruaunt that euer shee had in this worlde, the losse wherof summoneth death to arrest the carcase, that should haue bene imployed for her seruice, which intierly was conserued and should haue bene for her sake: but sithe nowe it can serue her to no purpose, the simple losse shall redounde to greatest gaine. I meane my selfe (good Ladies bothe) that lieth bewrapped in death before your faces, whose withered clammes hath catched the same within her reach, and hath warned the clocke to tolle the dolefull bell for his poor lovyng ghoste, nowe stretchynge out for the winding shete to shrowde his maigre corps, all forworne with the watche and toile, that such poore men (affected with like care) do feele. It is my selfe, that erst was rouing amid the troupe of Courtlie knightes decked with comely face, whose hewe dame Nature stayned with the colours of her golden art. It is I that of late was loued of that Nymphe, and earthie Goddesse, who with courtinge countenaunce imbraced the place where I did stande, and kissed the steps wherein I trode. It is my selfe I saye, that whilom in painefull blisse, did bath my selfe, and fedde mine eyes with the happie viewe of the heauenliest creature that euer God did make. And by forgoing of those ioyes by to to much mishap, and sacred famine of cursed mucke, I am thus pined as ye see, and wrapte in hopeles state." The mother and doughter hearinge this complainte, did their indeuour to cheere him vp, and the mother sayde unto him: "Be of good courage sir, and I promise you my fayth, that if God giue you health, my doughter shal haue none other husband but you, and behold her here, whom I commaunde to make you present promise." The mayden weeping with a virginall shamefastnes, consented to her mother's hest. But knowing when he was recouered, that he should not haue her, and that the mother was so liberal of her fayre words, to recomfort him and assaye if she might restore him: he said vnto them, that if those words had bin pronounced three monethes past, he had bin the lustiest and most happie gentleman of Fraunce: but helpe offred so late, was past beliefe and hope. But when he saw, that they went about to force him to beleeue it, he said vnto them: "Now that I see ye go about to promise the good tourne which can neuer chaunce vnto mee, yea although consent ioyned with vnfayned promise desires the effect, for respect of the feeble state wherein I am: yet let me craue one thing at your hands, farre lesse then that ye offer, which hitherto I neuer durst be so bolde to aske." Whereunto they both assented and swore to performe it, intreating him not to be ashamed to requyre it. "I humbly beseech ye (quoth hee) to deliuer her into mine armes whom ye haue promised to be my wife, and commaunde her to imbrace and kisse me." The mayden not vsed to such priuie sutes, ne yet acquainted with such secrete facts, made some difficultie, but her mother gaue her expresse commaundement to doe it, perceyuing in him no likelihode or force of a man to liue. The maiden then vpon that commaundement, aduaunced herselfe uppon the bedde of the poore pacient, saying vnto him: "Sir, I beseech you to be of good cheere." The languishing creature, so hard as he could for his extreeme debilitie, stretched forth his faint consumed armes, and with al the force of his body imbraced the cause of his death, and kissinge her with his colde and wanne mouth, held her so long as he could, and then spake vnto the mayden: "The loue which I haue borne you hath bin so great, and the good will so honest, as neuer (mariage excepted) I wished anye other thinge of you, but that which I presentlye haue, throughe the wante whereof and with the same I will ioyfully render my spirite to God, who is the parfaicte Loue, and truest Charitie, whoe knoweth the greatnes of my loue and the honestie of my desire: humblie beseeching him, (that nowe I hauing my desire betweene mine armes,) to interteigne my ghost within his blessed bosome." And in saying so he caught her againe betweene his armes with such vehemencie, as the feeble hart not able to abide that assault, was abandoned of all powers and mouinges: for the instant ioye so dilated and stretched forth the same, as the siege of the soule gaue ouer, making his repaire and flighte to his Creator: and because the senceles bodye rested withoute life, it gaue ouer his holde. Howbeit the loue, which the Damosell had still kept secrete, at that time shewed it self so strong and mightie, as the mother and seruauntes of the dead Gentleman had much a do to separate that vnion, but by force they haled away the liuing, almost deade with the deade. After the funerall was done with honourable exequies: but the greatest triumph was spent in teares, weepinges and cryes, specially by the gentlewoman, which so much more were manifeste after his death, as before in his life time they were dissembled, bestowinge them as an expiacion or sacrifice, to satisfie the wrong she had done vnto him. And afterwards (as I haue heard tell) she was maried to one, for mitigacion of her sorow, that neuer was partaker of the ioye of her harte. See here good Ladies an Image of perfect loue, that so muche had seazed vpon thaffections of this amorous Gentleman, as the pange neuer gaue ouer, till death (the rest of all troubles) had diuided life from the body. Yet some perchaunce for the desperate part of this hopeles louer, will terme him to be a fonde louing foole: and say that it is not meete that they should neglecte theyr liues for womens sakes, which were not created but for their helpe and comforte. And that being true as verifyed and auouched by Scriptures, there is no cause of feare to demaunde that of them, which God hath enioyned them to giue vs. In deede a sensuall loue, and such as is grounded to satisfye beastly luste, is a thinge horrible to Nature, and abhominable in the sight of him that made both those creatures, whom he fraughted with reason and knowledge for the refusall of those vices, which are onely to be applied to beastes voyde of reason. But loue founded in the soyle of Vertue, for auoyding carnall lust exercized in the state of Wedlocke, or first begonne and practized for that ende, is very ciuil and to be honoured. And if that loue attaine not equall successe, through parents default or vnkindnes of frendes or other humane accidents, if that loue so perce the hart, or otherwyse afflict the pacient with dispaire of helpe, and so occasioneth death, it is not to be termed follie or dotage, but to be celebrated with honourable titles. The honest amitie then of this gentleman, borne long time to this gentlewoman, meriteth euerlasting praise: for to finde such great chastitie in an amorous hart, is rather a thing deuine then humaine. A mocion moued aboue amongs the heauenly route, and not an ac{t} wrought in the grosenes of man's infirmitie.

THE SIXTY-FIRST NOUELL.

_A Gentlewoman of the Courte, very pleasauntly recompenced the
seruice of a kinde seruaunte of her's, that pursued her with seruice
of loue._

In the Courte of king Fraunces, the first of that name, not longe sithens Frenche king, the graunde father of Henry the 3 of that name now raigning: there was a Gentlewoman of good grace and interteignment, wanting not both minde and witte, such as the like of her sexe, are not to seeke, vnder what climate soeuer they be borne and bred, whose comly demeaner, curteous behauiour and eloquent speache, was agreeable to her other qualities of nature's giftes: whereby she gayned the hartes and good minds of nombers of seruauntes, with whom shee was cunning ynough to spend her time, (hauing respect to the sauftie and saufgard of her honor, which she preferred before all other solace) by such delectable consumption of time, as they that could not tell howe els to imploie their leasure, thoughte themselues most blessed, if they might attaine the delightfull presence of this well nourtered Dame. For they that made greatest assuraunce of her fidelitie, were in dispayre, and the most desperat were yet in some hope to winne her. Howbeit in deceyuing the most nomber, she could not forbeare intirely to loue one, who for his part was not able to plaie the counterfait, to colour the substance of his longe pursute: but as nothing is sure and stable, their loue tourned to displeasure, and by frequent renewing of what was well knowen the hole Court was not ignoraunt, what deuocion thone did beare to thother. One day the Gentlewoman, aswell to let him know that his affection was not bestowed in vaine, as to make him to feele some smart and paine for his louing seruice, the more louingly to forde him on, with preety morsells of her dissembling concept, made show vnto him of greater fauour, then euer she did before: for which cause he that was faultles either in deedes of armes, or in prowesse of loue, began liuely and valiantly to folow her, to whom long before with gentlenes and humilitie he had many times bin a suppliante. Who fayning that she was not able any longer to rest obstinate, made semblance of a womanly pitie and accorded to his demaund. Telling him that for respect of his tedious trauaile, she was now disposed to go to her chamber, (which was in a Gallerie of the Castell where that time the kinge did lie) where shee knew was none that could hinder what they two intended: willing him not to faile but so sone he saw her depart the place she was in, to folow after to her chamber, where he should finde her alone, tarying for him with good deuocion. The gentleman beleeuinge her appointmente, was readie to leape out of his skinne for ioye: and therewithall began to dalye and sport with other Ladies, attending the time of her departure. She wanting not the practize of any fine sleight or subtile pollicie, most pregnaunte in birds of her Ayrie, called two of the greatest Ladies to the present chamber window and said vnto them: "If it may please you good Ladies, I will discouer vnto you the pretiest pastime of the world." They which hard the grief of melancholie, besoughte her to tell what it was. "Thus it is" (quoth shee) "such a gentleman, whom you know very well, to be both honest and vertuous, hath longe time (as partlie you haue by to much experience seene,) gone about diuers wayes to winne that, which he shall neuer get: for when I began to applie my fancie towards him, he (vnconstant) ceased not to couet and folow other Ladies with like pursute hee did me: whereat I conceyued such more then spitefull hatred, as notwithstanding my outwarde semblaunce, I coueted reuenge. Nowe therefore maistresse, Occasion hath lente me a porcion of oportunitie, to be requited of his vaine and fickle sute: which is, that hauinge appointed him to come to my chamber, whither he meaneth presently to follow me, it maye please you to giue heedefull eye and watch: and that when hee hath passed alonge the Galerie, and is gone vp the stayers, that both of you wil recline your heads out of this window to helpe me singe the holding of the Caroll, that I meane to chaunte vnto him. And then shall you see the raging choler of this Gentleman, that at other times presumed to be a quiet Suter: wherat perhaps through his malapert boldnes, it cannot dash his blushles face, but yet if he do not deale vnto me like spiteful reproch in open hearing, I know full well in hart he will wishe me X. M. mischifes." This conclusion was not spoken without treble laughter: for there was no gentlemen in all the Courte, that had warred so much with the woman kind as hee, and yet welbeloued and esteemed of euery one, that listed not to be intrapped within his daunger. Therfore these Ladies thinking to carie awaye some part of the glorie, which one alone hoped to atchieue vpon this gentleman, were contente to assent to the other's liking. So sone then as they saw her depart, that purposed this enterprise, they began to espie the countenaunce of the betrayed partie, who paused not long before he exchaunged the place: and when he was oute of the chamber, the Ladies trayned after, to lose no part of the sport, and went the faster that he might not be out of theyr sight. And he that doubted not the successe, threwe his cape about his necke to hide his face, and went downe the staiers out into the Court, and afterwards mounted vp againe: but perceyuing some approche which he was loth should be a witnes, he went downe againe, returning another way on the other side. All which the Ladies sawe, vnknowen to him. But when he came to the stayers where he beleeued verely, that he might surely enter into his Maistres chamber, the two Ladies put they heads out of the window, and incontinently perceyued the gentlewoman alofte, crying out a lowde, "A theefe, a theefe:" wherunto they two below aunswered with so vehement voyce, doubling the other's outcrie, as all the castell ronge of it. I leaue for you to consider in what despite this gentleman fled to his lodginge, but not so closely, but that he was ouertaken by those that knew this misterie: who afterwards oftentimes reproched this fact vnto him, speciall she that had deuised the reuenge: but hee had armed himselfe with aunswers and defences so readely, as he told them that he foreknew their deuise, and mente nothing by his pilgrimage but to solace his beloued. For of her loue long time before he was out of all hope, as hauing reasonable proofe by his longe pursute and seruice. Howbeit the Ladyes would not hold his excuse for a veritie, which euen to this day hangeth in suspence.

THE SIXTY-SECOND NOUELL.

_The honest and maruellous loue of a mayden of noble house, and of a
gentleman that was base borne, and howe a Queene did impeche and let
their mariage, with the wise aunswere of the mayde to the Queene._